


Indulgence

by MariaSpade



Series: PruAus Drabbles [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Missing significant other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaSpade/pseuds/MariaSpade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roderich was stupid to leave Gilbert at home, and guilty to indulge himself anyway. (Part of a series but does not have to be read that way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

This whole thing had been a mistake, Roderich knew.  
It was a problem and it was a mistake. The mistake had been on insisting on leaving Gilbert home while Roderich went out to Barcelona for a meeting. What had he said again? The words seemed fuzzy and stupid in his head now. He had insisted that Gilbert stayed home, he would only be gone for two days, and in that time Gilbert could maybe clean the house a little, or do some grocery shopping, or do anything that was more productive that sitting around in a hotel room in Barcelona until Roderich came home from day long meetings that swept away his energy.  
Now Roderich was trying to see the logic behind that. (Well, he was trying to, but in his drowsiness after the long day, it was hard to see anything.) Probably by now (it was seven o’clock in the evening) Gilbert had already ruined their house one or two times over and had cleaned it up in hopes that Roderich wouldn’t notice. In three months’ time he would find that shards of his favorite tea cup swept up under a desk or something, where it was left after Gilbert broke it and feared Roderich would kill him.  
Perhaps he should have brought the other man with him. Seven in the evening in the country of passion and not a thing to do. He could go to dinner, but he hated to eat by himself now that he had gotten used to company chattering away while he ate. He could curl up and go to sleep. But if he went to bed now he would be up at 3 AM and their first meeting of tomorrow was at 7. Which would be plenty of time to get ready, but actually too much time, and he would end up tired all over again.  
If Gilbert was here, what would he insist on? He would insist on going out to eat, or perhaps exploring the halls of the hotel, or maybe even building a fort within the walls of their hotel room with all the pillows and sheets and armchairs there were to be found. Roderich snorted. Or, no, actually, he would insist on having Roderich on his knees on the bed, bent over before him.  
Roderich stopped short in his snort. Yes, he knew Gilbert well. He would know Roderich well also. After the long day of sitting in an uncomfortable armchair listening to the dronings of everyone who was not him (and therefore he really didn’t care) he would be stiff and sore (and he was). Gilbert would insist upon rubbing his shoulders maybe, sitting him down on the bed and rubbing his shoulders and back, maybe he would push and prod Roderich until he got into the bathtub. (Which he was much too tired to do on his own) And then, wouldn’t you know it, with that wicked charm he had and that little smile that sent Roderich’s heart thump thump thumping away like a school girl’s heart, he would have Roderich bent over on his knees and gasping for enough breath to fill his lungs while behind him Gilbert was having his dirty way.  
Oddly enough the thought sent a pang through Roderich’s heart. Gilbert had made him too soft over the years. He made him miss the albino when they were only twenty-four hours apart from seeing each other again.   
But his thoughts made him ache. They made his muscles ache and his heart ache but they also made him ache for something more. For that intimacy that Gilbert promised, that just the thought of Gilbert promised. For the ache that Gilbert gave him.   
Oh he hadn’t done this very often before. There were times, yes, when Gilbert was away, when he was off sailing and pillaging and fighting, and he was gone for so long, and Roderich was so distant from Antonio or Elizabeta or whoever had his hand in marriage at the time. And it was so hard to be intimate with anyone but Gilbert after they started sleeping together. And it was so wrong of him, to indulge himself like he had. He just missed Gilbert so much, the same way he missed him right now.  
With a shaky breath Roderich laid himself down on the hotel bed. It was too big and empty with just one person in it. But big and empty suited him just fine right now, it reminded him of the man he was missing and the stupid decision he had made to leave Gilbert home like he was some sort of pet that could simply forget about his existence for two days. He took another breath and his fingers, so shaky and unsteady, so unlike his usual nimbleness when he played an instrument, went to his trousers. If Gilbert- Roderich swallowed shakily- If Gilbert were here they would be off by now. They would be hanging by the edge of the table right now and Roderich would be bemoaning Gilbert for his inconsideration when it came to their clothing and now- just now as Roderich’s fingers unzipped himself too slowly, so unlike Gilbert- and now Gilbert himself would be shutting those complaints up with a kiss, the way he did so well.   
He unclasped the button of his trousers now as well, they were so pesky, the way they got in the way like that. He tugged them down slowly, much slower than Gilbert would have bothered with. He would have yanked them down, almost too roughly, and made Roderich complain again. Roderich untucked himself from his boxers, pulling them down just enough so they were out of the way. He probably wasn’t as used to this as some people were. He had spent most of his life under the ruling of one religion or another and they had all told him no, no this wasn’t okay, this wasn’t natural the way some people are trying to tell you it is. This wasn’t something you did with another man, much less yourself. Roderich closed his eyes and gripped his length in his hand. His touch had never been like Gilbert’s, never rough and calloused. His fingers were softer and smoother than the other man’s, and for now he cursed that. But Gilbert wasn’t here to touch him, and he cursed at this as well.  
Roderich’s fingers closed around his hardening erection- he wasn’t quite up yet but soon would be. His fingers brushed against coarse, dark hairs and he squeezed. He squeezed soft at first, he always started soft. His thumb moved against the length, against a dark vein that ran to his head. The squeezing turned harder and those violet eyes turned hazy for a moment and his head tilted back. Ah, that was more like it. He squeezed again and moved his thumb harder and he could feel blood rushing, pumping into his length, hardening him.  
It was so clichéd of him, so expected, but he couldn’t help it- Gilbert slipped into his thoughts. Gilbert’s hand slipped into his thoughts, the way it was rough but always gentle. Roderich’s fingers were longer than Gilbert’s, they were more suited for instruments than battle. More for music than masturbation. Now that he was settled into this and determined to finish himself off, he reached over for the cocoa butter lotion that sat by his bed. (Normally there for the dry hands he got in the night. He could never let his hands dry out, it would be an abomination.) He squeezed enough out onto his hands, just enough though, he hated to be messy and wasteful. Gilbert would make fun of him for that, that if he touching himself in bed versus maybe the shower, he shouldn’t be concerning himself with messes.  
With the palm of this hand coated in lotion, he was better suited to continue, and he did. He squeezed again, then grasped and moved. Slowly, at first, from the base covered in coarse, chocolate dark hair to the head, where his thumb flicked over the slit. Oh that was more like it. A low whine formed in his throat but he swallowed it back.  
Again his hand moved, and it continued to move, from the base to the head, over his erection, slow at first until it was a steady, smooth pace, one Gilbert, with his impatience, just couldn’t match. Then his other hand went to work, smoothing over the inside of his thighs through his trousers, touching, stroking like the pale fingers of his lover ought to be doing right now. They smoothed down to the inside of his thighs and his legs parted wider. Down they went, into his trousers, smoothing over his left buttock and in, towards the puckered entrance Gilbert should have been inside right now. He didn’t so this very often either. He always shied away from putting his fingers inside himself, it was so intimate an area, too intimate, in fact, for one to enjoy by themselves but perfect for one to enjoy with a lover. But he missed that lover so terribly right now that if he didn’t think of it as his fingers inside of himself, but perhaps Gilbert down there, toying with him, perhaps it was alright for this one, lonely night.   
His first finger slipped in easily enough. It was always foreign inside of him- warm and wet and tight. Always tight, that’s what Gilbert said to him. He sunk his finger in until it was all the way inside. His hand moving over his erection slowed for the moment so he could concentrate instead on the finger inside him, but it picked up the pace soon enough. He groaned softly and tilted his head back, letting the finger just rest inside of him while his hand moved, squeezed, twisted the skin of his erection, doing the things he knew he liked, when he liked. His finger wriggled inside of him while his pointer finger moved over the sensitive slit on his head.  
The second finger was also easy to get inside, just not as easy. He had to pull out his first finger completely to get them both in at the same time. But once in they fit snugly and he sighed, content with the feeling of being full and the friction of his hand moving over his erection. He squeezed his fist as he moved it, flicked his wrist, rolled his sack between his fingers. The fingers inside of him moved, and he mimicked what Gilbert ought to be doing to him right now, moving them in and out, harshly, rougher than he meant to.   
A warmth pooled in his groin pleasantly. The warmth that promised him orgasm. Just once, that was all he wanted. More often than not, if he and Gilbert were going to bother with making love, they were going to do it more than once in one night. But he just wanted orgasm once tonight, that was all he needed to get to tomorrow.  
Three fingers now. The third was harder to fit in, but after coaxing his body a bit to relax, to open up easier, it slid in next to the other two. Three fingers was as much as he could even stretch himself for. By himself he had only ever done three fingers. He sighed softly, tilting his head back as three fingers moved in and out, in and out of himself, mimicking what Gilbert ought to be doing this very moment. His fingers squeezed, they squeezed so nicely, as they moved up and down his shaft, quickly and slowly, whatever he felt like.  
The warmth moved south. He could feel it curling his toes and hazing over his mind. His hand moved faster and it stayed quick.  
His fingers reached further in and they curled forward and just barely he stroked against that bundle of nerves inside him. Roderich stroked his prostate again, then again, and his fingers fitted so nicely inside him and his hand felt tight and rough over is erection, he could think it was Gilbert if he just closed his eyes.  
His orgasm washed over him slowly. It left every muscle in his body trembling. The cum splattered against the inside of his thighs over his trousers and down onto his shirt and he grimaced as some of it splattered onto the sheets. His fingers relaxed inside of him as the muscles there fluttered around them, and his hand slowed as his body slowed, as his orgasm left him. And his chest slowed his breathing and his lungs filled with the air he needed and forgot to take when he came. His breaths were deep and his eyes were heavy and his mind was buzzing with satisfaction and warmth and loneliness.  
Roderich sighed. He tugged his fingers out of him and moved up so he wasn’t as close to what was on the bed. He stayed like that for a moment longer. His eyes closed again, tired, but sticky, and he couldn’t have that. With a sigh he got up and stripped his clothing on his way to the bathroom. A bath sounded good right now. And he would change into his sleepwear and sleep on the other side of the bed and bless the poor soul who had to clean the sheets come morning. He would leave the sheets on the floor so they would be changed out.  
He sunk into the bath with a little smile. This time tomorrow, by eight o’clock tomorrow evening, he would be back in Vienna with the man he belonged to, and Gilbert would ask if he was lonely, and Roderich would say yes and he would bat his eyelashes in the way he knew Gilbert adored. And Gilbert would have him on his knees in no time.


End file.
